


turn, turn the pages

by Jace_Diaz_Of_Hell



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: August is not Pinocchio, Fix-It of Sorts, Multi, The Author is August AU, the original female characters are my ocs and i make no apologies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-19 12:34:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29874741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jace_Diaz_Of_Hell/pseuds/Jace_Diaz_Of_Hell
Summary: There is a world where Pinocchio grew up to be a man. A world where he went through a wardrobe, and he was not brave, selfless, and true. A world where he went by a different name entirely.This is not that world.Once upon a Time, August was a little boy who lived in a forest, though near enough to the harbor that he saw people passing through on a regular basis. He heard their stories.He wanted to write stories of his own.
Relationships: Baelfire | Neal Cassidy & Pinocchio | August Booth, Baelfire | Neal Cassidy/Emma Swan, Evil Queen | Regina Mills/Original Female Character(s), Henry Mills & Pinocchio | August Booth, Pinocchio | August Booth & Emma Swan, Prince Charming | David Nolan/Snow White | Mary Margaret Blanchard, Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 3





	turn, turn the pages

There is a world where Pinocchio grew up to be a man. A world where he went through a wardrobe, and he was  _ not  _ brave, selfless, and true. A world where he went by a different name entirely.

This is  _ not  _ that world. 

Pinocchio is not the focus of this story. He remained in Storybrooke, a little boy in a group home, missing a father he didn’t remember. 

We’re talking about a man named August.

Once upon a Time, August was a little boy who lived in a forest, though near enough to the harbor that he saw people passing through on a regular basis. He heard their stories as he was running around with the other children his age. At night, his mother would tuck him in and tell him stories she had heard.

And inside, he  _ yearned.  _

He wanted so many things. He wanted to travel. He wanted to  _ see  _ these stories for himself, not just hear about them long after they happened. He wanted to write his own- stories that would make children like him  _ yearn,  _ to see and hear and tell and  _ know _ . 

As he grew up, he began to tell his own any chance he could get. Around a fire with other children, the flicker of flames illuminating his face as he wove tales to make even the bravest of them shiver. To his mother and father, stories of what he had done that day (always made up, and his parents always humored him.)

Spinning tales for coins as a young teenager, delighted when he made enough to buy treats. 

And one day, his chance came. 

An old, old man heard him spinning his yarns, and sat to listen. He stays through the whole day, and when August stands to go home, with his meager little pile of coins, the old man hobbles forwards.

“I don’t have much.” He says, his voice shaking. “But I have a gift for you. With the talent you have, your words should be spread far and wide. “

He holds out a quill in one shaking hand, and August takes it, his eyes wide. 

The quill glows, and the old man smiles.

“Meet me back here tomorrow. We’ll have to have quite the conversation.”

The next day, August hears the wildest tale he’s ever heard.

_ Merlin himself  _ has chosen August to be an author. Not just any author-  _ the  _ Author. The one who gets to witness the tales of what will be. 

It’s his dream come true. He’ll get to see the world. He’ll get to tell stories. Finally,  _ finally,  _ he will be the traveller. 

“You can  _ never  _ write yourself a happy ending, or you’ll lose the powers you have been given.”

“Sir,” August says, feeling breathless and a million other things. “This  _ is  _ my happy ending.”

He takes the quill to the Book he’s given, and he writes. 

He writes about a Princess, across the forest, with lips as red as blood and skin as fair as snow. He writes about her childhood, about the Queen’s untimely passing on the poor girl’s birthday, and then he sets his quill down long enough to mourn with the Kingdom. 

He writes about the meeting between the little princess and the future queen, about the manipulations of the future Queen’s mother, and he himself weeps as he pens Regina’s true love’s death. 

He writes about Regina’s rise to the Queen, and her fall into villainy. About little Snow, not so little anymore, fleeing for her life.

When she meets her true love, he just about dances for joy. 

Then he has to put his stories down for a while, to put his parents to rest. 

That night, he uses a normal quill and ink, and writes out his pain. When he shuts up the windows, he catches sight of himself in the mirror, and he’s still just as young as the day he was when he received the quill. 

And he realizes he’s stuck in time. He’ll keep seeing stories, until the next author is chosen. He tries to feel happy about it, the way he was only a short while ago, but the joy feels hollow. 

It takes a long time for him to find that same joy in writing again, and it’s not until the death of Stealthy and Snow meeting the bandits that he feels some of that old enthusiasm creeping back.

He puts the pen down and  _ sobs,  _ because he’s so relieved his dream isn’t turning bitter on him. He knows exactly what he wants still. He isn’t lost.

Even paused in time, he’s still learning new things about himself, and it’s a blessing. He records as much in his diary. 

And one day, the Apprentice appears to him again, just when he’s about to sit down to a meager meal of his own. He welcomes the old man in, invites him to dine with him. He can spare some soup. 

“There will be a curse coming,” He says. “One that will whisk all those in Misthaven to a Land without Magic. They will be trapped.”

August has seen it in his writings, has known it was coming.

“I’m going to be trapped, too.” He says, and his heart feels like a lead weight in his chest, dragging him down. “I’m assuming this means my time as the Author is up?”

“Oh, no. Far from it.” The Apprentice says, and August releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “In fact, you won’t be trapped by this curse, either. I come with another gift for you.”

He holds out an old, wizened hand, and inside of it is a glowing bean. August’s eyes widen- he hasn’t seen one of these outside of the stories he’s recorded of the Dark One. He didn’t even know they were still around.

He takes it from the man gingerly. 

“When you see the curse sweep over the land, use it.” The old man tells him. “Bring the quill with you, but leave the book behind. The Sorcerer has prophesied that it will be needed during the curse someday.”

August nods and swallows, excitement leaping into his throat as if he’s still that same young teenager.

A new land. New places to see. New stories to tell. New things of his own to experience. 

He hugs the elderly man as he leaves, leaving the Apprentice startled and confused, though amused and happy his charge has worked so well so far.

And August goes back to writing. He writes every event as soon as he feels the itch in his hand that signifies there are tales to be told.

He writes as Snow White discovers her pregnancy, as Rumplestiltskin demands the name of the child, as Snow goes into labor early.

The wardrobe takes two. Snow can’t move from the birth just yet. Barely after getting to see her daughter, she sends David to the nursery with her. She can only hope they’ll make it in time.

They’ll find her. She knows it.

But then. Then she hears David cry out, and she forces herself to move out of bed and down the hallway.

(August’s tears are falling on the paper as he writes- this poor family and everything they’ve been through- but he doesn’t stop, hurrying to get the words down before the dark clouds make it to his house.)

Snow lurches down the halls, and finds her husband, bleeding and unconscious, their infant daughter still crying in his arms.

She wants to collapse with them, but she picks the baby up and keeps going,stumbling to the nursery through the pain ripping at her abdomen.

She lowers the baby into the wardrobe and closes the door, relieved at the glow that ripples over it. When she opens it again, she tries to climb in, and has one foot in the wardrobe before magic freezes her. 

“You’re not going  _ anywhere,  _ Snow White.” Hisses her stepmother, her stepmother’s second in command at her side. She sees Snow’s body, belly deflated by the loss of Emma and the afterbirth, and her eyes narrow. “Where is she?”

Snow manages a watery smile.

“Somewhere you can’t hurt her, wherever we’re going.”

“We’re going to a miserable place.” Regina says, smirking as she leans in. “Where the only happy ending… will be  _ mine.” _

_ It’s done. _

August leaves the book open to let the ink dry, and keeps the pen clutched in his hand as he throws the bean down.

He looks down at the swirling green vortex, takes a breath, and jumps.

He comes out the other side in the middle of an unfamiliar clearing. The stars shine overhead, and when he looks down at his hands, there is a clunky object he doesn’t recognize.

It’s wide, with a sheet of paper in it, and there are odd buttons with letters on them. 

Some kind of writing device. The quill must have adapted.

August lets a breath out, and starts walking.

He has twenty eight years to figure out what he’s going to do. But for now, he heads for distant lights.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a concept that one of my best friends and I came up with as we were talking!! I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Come talk to me at https://advxnturer.tumblr.com/ !!


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